Once upon a pre-baby time, my husband and I were versed in voyaging light. Europe for a week? A backpack and a duffel bag. Asia for half a year? A pair of suitcases.

After our daughter was born, even heading out to Pearlridge requires extended preparation. So when we decided to fly to the Mainland when she was just 5 months old, we knew it would be a challenge.

The smallest person in the household is granted the largest suitcase we own. Diapers alone take up half of the bag. Her adorable outfits appear tiny, but together they occupy more space than all of my husband's clothes. Add oodles of other infant items, and packing took the better part of a week.

Once at the airport, I maneuvered the stroller and backpacks. My intrepid husband somehow shepherded the remaining luggage through the state Department of Agriculture checkpoint (do the baby's pureed bananas count?) and the airline check-in.

We happened to fly at the height of the airport security restrictions. Upon arriving at the front of the security line, one official instructed us to dump the bottled water we have brought for the baby. Another informed us we could keep it. Such is the clarity of government regulations.

However, we are grateful that our infant is still too young to miss any particular sustenance. A fellow traveler told us about a family who was asked to toss out all of their toddlers' favorite snacks and drinks before boarding. That must have been one long plane ride (repeat one hundred times: "Mommy, where's my Juicy Juice?").

We continued through security — a juggling act to take the keiki out of the stroller, carry her in one hand while removing and putting on footwear, and grabbing our belongings. Afterwards we hunted around for the elevators, which invariably were in an obscure corner.

As we near the gate, our excitement mounted. Finally, the chance to be seated even before first class and those with a million frequent-flier miles. Then we learned that certain flights no longer preboard parents with young children.

The clever airline decided to seat all of us parents with keiki next to each other. While we will were an empathetic group, it was doubtful any of us slept much during this red-eye segment. And sure enough, two flights and 10 hours later, when we arrived at our destination, we parents were bleary-eyed.

Thankfully our daughter managed to nap more than she wailed.

Contrast this to the active toddler behind us who vocalized and squirmed during an entire flight leg. Or our friend's 2-year-old, whose legs are just long enough to reach the seat in front of him to kick, kick, kick. Our daughter's future behavior is reflected in their little bodies.

Indeed, with now nearly a dozen plane rides together under our belts, that first foray seems simple by comparison. During the latest flight, our active tot was so excited (read "hyper") that she could barely sleep.

Yet merely three months separated the first excursion from the last. Perhaps it's a good idea to book our next trip now, before she conquers walking.

Monica Quock Chan is a freelance writer who lives in Honolulu with her husband and daughter.